


gods and monsters

by HolyGuacomole



Series: children of melinoe [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Attempted Kidnapping, Danny Mahealani & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Human Sacrifice, Implied Relationships, Lydia Martin/Danielle (Teen Wolf), M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Past Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 06:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7348552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyGuacomole/pseuds/HolyGuacomole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole <i>‘my bio dad happens to be the not-so-mythical Greek messenger god, Hermes, but what sane person would’ve believed that?’</i> thing is of course understandable for keeping a secret… but a family? Stiles doesn’t have a strong enough excuse for that one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gods and monsters

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU THANK YOU TO MY BEAUTIFUL BETA [fantalaimon](http://fantalaimon.tumblr.com/) AND MY ARTIST [ufohnoparty](http://ufohnoparty.tumblr.com/) WHO WAS ALSO ANOTHER BETA BECAUSE SHE'S SO NICE!! (ohmygoodness, they fixed so **many** mistakes, my grammar is shit.
> 
> Everyone who stuck with me through the mud, and thank you to the mods for putting up with me!!
> 
> ufohnoparty's artwork can be found [here](http://ufohnoparty.tumblr.com/post/146702592612/art-for-the-story-gods-and-monsters-by/), and they're wonderful <3
> 
>  **NOTES:** No Percy Jackson characters make an appearance in this story and some things are manipulated to fit my own tw-centric plot better. I took liberties in the power-up department in regards to characters whom have greek god parents in the PJO universe where they don't explain about the gifts their children may posses. **Also** , I have not yet read the hoo series yet, so I apologize to you loyal Riordan if my characterization of Lycaon is off-putting.

“You’re leaving me again this summer, and you’re taking my ex-girlfriend with you.”

“Two of ‘em, actually.”

Scott twitched his head to eye Stiles just barely from his collapsed position on the other boy’s bed. “What?”

“Allison was finally claimed.”

“Okay, again: what?”

“I mean, uhm,” Stiles stumbled over the scattered laundry, along with his words, “Her... mom claimed- or registered- a spot for her before registration closed.”

Scott almost repeated his question for a third time, but decided to take his questioning a different route. “But, I thought after her first time there a few years back, Chris said their bunking system was ridiculous, like, overpopulated, or whatever?”

“Yeah, well, they spent the past year renovating old cabins and adding new ones.” 

“That’s great though, yeah? I mean, you’re always saying your cabin has, like, no privacy.”

“Thank god too. No more hearing Kira whispering gross things to you at three in the morning.” Stiles teased with a toothbrush hanging out of his wide, grinning mouth. “More ‘an half o’ my bunk mates are leavin’ for the new digs.”

“Don’t you want a change of scenery? Leave the old houses for new campers to fill, and you can have a nice, new bed?”

“Nah. I definitely belong in my cabin,” Stiles threw some questionable boxers into his luggage, “No question.”

Scott didn’t know how to respond to that cryptic answer, but he never really knew how to talk to Stiles about his weird camp in the first place. Usually, Stiles spilled everything about his life (no matter how inappropriate or gross), but whenever summer came around, his friend would get all squirrely, and he’d throw desperate looks at Scott’s mom. 

Scott’s own mom won’t even tell him about her time at that camp. He’s perturbed by that more than anything. His mom went to this camp when she a kid, and it never really occurred to him to feel left out. At least, not until he was 13.

“ _Heeey_ , buddy.”

Scott remembered the last time his grandfather visited. (Never ‘grandpa.’ Too informal, his dad would say and tap him on the head.) He was so…golden was a descriptor that came to mind, but important always worked too. 

“Earth to Scott.”

Scott had wanted to know why his golden, important grandfather didn’t want him to go to his camp. A camp where, as he heard from Stiles, there was a bunk that has the same name as him. ‘The Apollo cabin has the best sound system, bro-.’

“Scott!”

A small stress-ball smacked him right in the forehead.

“Hey!”

“Ya back with me?” 

Scott rubbed at the red mark under his fringe and pouted at Stiles’ giggle. “The fuck, dude?”

Stiles crashed down beside him with legs off the bed, happy trail peeking out from under his shirt, and Scott started rubbing harder at his forehead. “I was just thinking…”

“Uh-huh,” Stiles prompted him to continue.

“I was just thinking, why would Allison even bother going back when she’s 18? Isn’t it kind of weird? I mean, you’re turning 17 soon, but it makes sense that you’d wanna go back for your last year. Allison hasn’t been there since she was 12.”

The quiet spell after his question grew tense, with Stiles nibbling at his bottom lip and determinedly staring at his Converse shoes in the corner of the room. The weird, dirty ones with H instead of a star. Scott was beginning to become jittery when his best friend finally answered, albeit starting off stiltedly, “So… our camp is very, er, old-fashioned, and it’s only recently that the original founders have decided to properly honor-or more so dedicate-buildings to the rest of the younger, uhm, benefactors who have…contributed to the camp over the years.”

Scott furrowed his brow and rolled his head to look back at a suddenly fidgety Stiles (though fidgeting wasn’t necessarily uncommon), who was now actively avoiding his gaze not altogether subtly. That explanation was even more confusing.

“Stiles…”

“Yeeeah, buddy?”

Scott rose to his hands and knees on the bed to lean over Stiles stretched out torso, staring down into his brown eyes. “Scott?”

“Is your camp run by the mob?”

An attractive flush spread over Stiles like a burn, and his face twisted up in an unattractive cackle. “HA-OH MY GOD! That’s-that’s, oh my god dude, that is so-!”

Scott collapsed onto Stiles, choking off his ridiculous laughing and forcing him into a headlock.

That’s how his mom found them minutes later, rolling around on the carpet, acting like the roughhousing kids they used to be. The boys shot up from the floor at her knock on the wooden frame, then followed her down the stairs to the kitchen for dinner.

“Hey, Dad!” Stiles hopped around the table when he saw the sheriff seated in one of the chairs with a hot plate in front of him, “You gonna take me home?”

John pulled out the chair closest to him for his son to sit and shot a tired grin at Scott in greeting, “Yeah, since Melissa and I agreed Scott shouldn’t tire himself out all night with you when he’s got to be at bootcamp bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“It’s really no problem,” Scott attempted to reassure. 

“Bootcamp?”

Scott smiled, wide and happy, at Stiles, “Coach decided the team should get in better shape over the summer, since he doesn’t want us to get lazy before our season starts at the beginning of the school year.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and grabbed at a butter roll from the bread basket, “That man’s got the grapes-for-brains gene, definitely.”

The sheriff swatted at his son with his napkin and Melissa covered a smirk by biting pasta from her fork. Scott didn’t get it.

More inside jokes.

***

The next morning, Stiles and his dad were on the last leg of their trip to the camp when he broke their comfortable silence.

“I’m getting pretty sick of keeping half my life from Scotty.” 

“You know why it’s not our right to tell him.” John looked exhausted just from that comment. “We’ve had this conversation every year Stiles.”

“Then you should’ve expected me to bring it up.”

“I always expect you to finally accept that you just can’t.”

“But what if we-?”

The sheriff turned on the radio.

“Ugh!” Stiles flicked the control off, “Rude!”

“It’s rude of you to always disregard the consequences of what telling Scott would mean and insensitive to Melissa that you think this secret doesn’t eat away at her either.”

Stiles clutched his sweat pants and glanced away out the window, allowing John to see the sad and stubborn face his son made in the reflection from his peripheral. 

“You also know that your mother wasn’t even allowed to tell me until you started exhibiting your powers.” John softened his tone but looked forward once more to face the road, “We’re lucky that Hermes claimed you after she did. I probably wouldn’t have believed her if he hadn’t zapped down then and there. When they both told me about how dangerous knowing about this world could be, well… it makes me feel safer knowing he’s watching out for you specifically.” 

Stiles scoffed at that and John let his frustration show, “Hey, I may not be a demigod kid, but even I’m not dumb enough to mock the protection his acknowledgement gives you.”

“He couldn’t protect mom.”

John snapped his mouth shut.

The rest of their ride was quiet.

***

“So, I’ll pick you up at-” a yawn impeded Melissa’s own sentence, and Scott puffed up with gratitude. His mom didn’t have to drop him off so early, but she had insisted. 

“Coach said today we’ll finish at three o’clock.”

Melissa shook herself out of the yawn, uncombed curls brushing against her shoulders, and reached out the car window to pat his cheek. “And d’ya gotta be here tomorrow at the same time?”

Scott nodded in answer and started to move away to join his teammates across the field, but his mom called him back.

“Inhaler?”

“I haven’t needed it since I was fourteen.”

She raised a brow.

“It’s in my backpack.”

“Make sure Bobby knows where it is before you start your exercises.”

Scott tilted his head and stepped closer to the car again, “You guys went to camp together, right?”

Melissa glanced agitatedly toward the forest just a hundred or so yards away from the parking lot, then up to the sky. She got that look on her face that Scott always hated. That world-weary, fearful one. “Yeah…we did. I’m actually a little surprised he decided to have you guys drill so close.”

Okay, seriously? That mobter theory didn’t seem so far-fetched the more he managed to make his mother and Stiles spill about it.

“ _McCall!_ ” 

Finstock’s scream not only scared Scott, but it managed to scare away the murder of crows perched in the nearest grouping of trees. Melissa just seemed irritated by the outburst. Scott took his chance to start heading over to the wild-eyed man before he made him do extra laps and threw a goodbye over his shoulder to his mother.

As he neared the boys, Scott noticed how pale Coach appeared, looking behind him at Melissa. He blushed heavily, realizing his mom was probably serving the man a frightening glare. Colour didn’t return to Finstock ‘til the burping of the McCall’s car engine drove far out of earshot. He cleared his throat with a sheepish cough and called the team to circle. A red, beaten up cooler was placed in the middle of their group.

“Alright you flabby no-goods, one hundred jumping jacks to get warmed up, then get started on our routine stretches. After that, we’re gonna jog along the forest trail till we hit the red trail marker. The first five that make it there get free pick of the food Greenberg prepared for breakfast, and the rest of you- well- you’ll be the lucky majority that get to taste my protein shake to kick your ass in gear to be better players.”

Scott and the rest of the guys eyed the ice chest with a new level of fear, and the memory of sophomore year - AKA Puke Fest Season - came rushing back like leftover nausea. Greenberg’s overcooked eggs sounded pretty damn good right about then.

He was not gonna be one of the poor bastards to die from Coach’s food poisoning. 

*** 

“I’m a poor bastard,” Scott huffed out from the dirt ground of the forest. The sparrows seemed to chirp in agreement with his assessment from the branches above, and he groaned loudly.

He had actually been doing pretty good to start out this early in the morning, with the sun shining on his back. The heat didn’t seem to bother him, and his inside warmed with confidence; a song filled his head and helped him breathe to the beat of the music. Scott couldn’t even say what the song was about, or even what the lyrics were, but it really carried him through his exercises. He was one of the first ten boys to start into the forest.

And then he tripped.

His foot caught under a jagged root, and he fell down the leaf-strewn hill that the trail was made on, hitting his head heavy on the ground.

Scott woke up without a song in his head and a throbbing pain between his eyes. 

Very slowly, so as not to aggravate the ache pulsing through his skull, Scott sat up and glanced around the area he fell into, optimism managing to bleed back when he noticed that dawn light was still glowing from behind the foliage above. 

With reluctance, Scott twisted his torso, dull aches making themselves known, to inspect his ankle.

 _Fuck_.

Well, it definitely didn’t look good. The skin peeking out of his sock was already purpling and pretty swollen. Scott knew that was a bad sign, so he took off his footwear as quickly, but delicately, as he could. There was no one around to help him elevate his foot, so Scott knew it was best to stay where he was so the team or Coach could find him. His only other options were to climb back up the hill he fell from or limp along the bottom of the incline ‘til it leveled off back to the trail, and neither option seemed really smart at the moment.

After situating the shoe and sock as a makeshift foot-rest, Scott realized he didn’t hear any of the birds flittering in the trees anymore. No squirrels running about, no crying hawks, nothing. 

A slow shiver of dread crawled up Scott’s spine. The forest seemed so isolating at that moment, but he didn’t feel alone. Scott strained his ears to hear something- anything- that might clue him into why the suspenseful nothingness had locked him in this moment of terror.

A predator?

_Pat, pat, pat, pat!_

He froze, feeling like prey for the first time in his life, afraid to face whatever creature was approaching him. _A coyote? A bear?_

_PATPATPATPAT!_

Scott spun to face the beast deadly enough to silence a forest, and--

A wolf.

A ridiculously huge, monstrous wolf with great big eyes as red as blood and maw snapping wider than his own head, lunged and--

Scott screamed out in terror and stumbled to his feet in a futile attempt to outrun the monster, but his ankle gave in a wicked twist and Scott crashed back down, feeling hopeless and so, so alone.

_His mom would be devastated._

The wolf fell onto his hurt leg with a heavy slap of furred muscle on tanned flesh.

_He never told Stiles!_

A humongous paw pressed down against his chest, pushing him into the damp earth. Scott closed his eyes in terror, not ready to embrace death, but preparing to feel horrendous pain. He leaned away from the hot air exhaled by the wolf and--

It lurched off of him.

Scott tensed up, too scared and surprised to face the sight of that thing again, when he suddenly heard a small change. The heavy panting of the monster was replaced with the sound of labored…human breathing? 

The seconds ticked by, with the the stranger’s breath slowing down at a gradual pace, along with Scott’s own heart rate, when curiosity won over his fear. He opened his eyes.

A man was standing, heaving his chest, in front of him. A very naked, very hairy man, his hair as dark as the wolf’s fur, with so…

“Nyctimus?”

The man took one large step forward, and Scott grew fearful again. “Where- where did the wolf go?” 

The man ignored his question, seeming to grow perturbed and spoke again in his rough, low voice, “How can this be? I fed you to that thunderous oaf!”

Scott swallowed, fighting against the violent shudder that he felt building across his shoulders, but he couldn’t look away from the stranger’s stare. His stare was so… _feral._

Feral and red.

“No matter,” the stranger puffed, his sadistic grin revealing yellowed and unbelievably sharp teeth, “I’ll have to gut you again, I see.”

 _This is the beast_ , Scott suddenly knew. _Not a man_.

The stranger crushed Scott’s sprained ankle under his massive foot, and he very nearly blacked out again from the pain-- the fear!

_Not a wolf._

The monster bent down, incisors lengthening past his cracked lips, drawing closer to Scott’s throat and--

“TASTE THIS SILVER, YOU UGLY FUCK!”

Coach Finstock was running full tilt down-hill, waving a gleaming sword!

But he wasn’t fast enough.

The fangs sank deeply into Scott’s collarbones just as Coach threw his weapon in a weirdly graceful arc and pierced the beast’s thick shoulder. With a gritty yip, he was running off, and Scott was so thankful, so--

Blacking out.

As darkness filled his vision, Scott could dimly hear his teacher’s softer tread approaching at a quick trot and then a whispered, “Poor bastard.”

_Yep._

***

Stiles was the most unlucky person at Camp Half-Blood! He moaned over-dramatically into his pillow and beat his feet against his bed, “I can’t believe I’m still stuck with you for another summer!”

Another pillow hit him surprisingly hard in the back of the head, and Stiles glanced up to see Jackson vibrating with palpable anger on his own bunk and Danny giving him a majorly disappointed look. 

Stiles almost felt bad for his comment.

Almost.

“I mean, nearly everyone has been claimed by now, so what the hell is up your god-mommy or daddy’s celestial asshole?”

_That was better, right?_

Judging by the stormy exit Jackson made, no. No it wasn’t.

“I see you’ve really matured this past year Stiles.” Danny’s tone dripped acid, and he too left the Hermes cabin, no doubt to make a bed for his friend in the Athena cabin.

“I mean,” Stiles thumped his forehead back down on his blankets, “Geez, I need my buffer.”

“Miss me already?”

Stiles hopped up at the perky voice, foul mood instantly brightening at the sight of Kira’s happy face peeking from behind the door. “Yes, oh beautiful daughter of Zeus! Only you can melt the heart of that vicious, vicious spawn of Ares!”

Kira’s sunshiny, bright smile disappeared in an instant and she fluttered her hands in front of his face before covering his smart mouth, “Stiles! You don’t say things like that until someone’s been officially claimed!”

He brushed away her delicate fingers and sighed out frustratedly, “Oh, c’mon! I mean, it’s not like it’s a secret. Look at Liam-they look almost exactly the same-and both of them have anger issues. And he’s been exhibiting traits common in kids from the Ares cabin since he was 11!”

“Maybe that’s why?”

Stiles frowned at her as she sat down cross-legged across from him on her former bed, “Why what?”

“Why Jackson’s so angry. Ares has been claiming his other children left and’ right, and Jackson’s just been…stuck in another cabin.”

Stiles blinked owlishly at his friend, “...Well, _duh_.”

“Hello, hello!” Lydia’s entrance possibly saved him from a third attack by pillow that day, with her sweeping in between the two, green dress dragging on the shag carpet he needled the staff to put in after one too many splinters his third year at camp.

“Hey, Lydia.”

“What’s up?” Kira asked as she hugged the other girl down onto the bed with her. “How’s Danielle?”

Lydia quirked her lips at the mention of her new girlfriend. “She’s good! Only a little sad this’ll be our last year here together, but our college’s are in the same state, so we’ll be able to see each more often. But gabbing about my love life is not the reason I’ve deigned to enter these dirty rooms.”

“Shocker.”

 _Ah, hello third pillow. At last, we meet._ Stiles wrapped his arm’s around the feather-stuffed fabric and met Lydia’s ‘forever suffering’ glare. “As I was saying, there’s a rumor going around-”

“Camp just started. Are you _kidding me_?”

“Can I finish, Stiles?”

He didn’t open his mouth.

“Thank you.” Lydia flipped her hair, the strands catching the light from the window almost luminescent, “So, there’s been several sightings by the naiads and satyrs this past week. Sightings of a giant wolf.”

Stiles and Kira looked at each other, unease suddenly saturating the air around them. Even Lydia looked grim as all three of them contemplated what the significance a giant wolf could mean. 

“D’ya think…d’ya think it was a soldier for Lycaon, or?”

“Just some stray werewolf?”

Stiles felt a strange wind blow through his cabin. Not the warm and welcoming air that usually filled his bunk upon arrival. This felt like--

It felt like a warning.

***

Lycaon prowled the underbrush gathered along the cavern wall, savoring the scent of blood still clinging to his sharpened nails. He found it oddly unfortunate that it truly wasn’t his long-deceased son’s plasma painting his hands, but it smelled divine nonetheless. 

As close to the scent of a demigod as he’d gotten in almost a decade. The perfume of it made him imagine a breezy day in the sun. _Ah, perhaps a descendant of Apollo?_

“What in hell were you thinking?”

Lycaon took another steadying breath of blood, wordlessly praying to his only goddess for patience, and turned with a grimace, “Good evening, Julia.”

“You were supposed to be sniffing out weaknesses in the camp’s defenses! Not randomly attacking human boys and drawing attention to our presence!” His guest appeared seamlessly out of the shadows, in a way that almost made him question her true parentage.

“ _Sniffing out_? You make me sound like some common mongrel.”

Julia stalked around his temporary abode, pale face distinctly pinched in judgment, “Your sensitivities are the least of my concern, _wolf_. So, explain!”

Lycaon was honestly resisting the urge to just be done with this wretch of a woman--to just rip her limb from limb and let his army have at her--but then he reminded himself how faithful she was to their mistress. His goddess. 

Her mother.

“You honestly thought I would deny myself a fresh meal, easy and weak, that stumbled into my path?”

“You’ve never been this sloppy before!”

“Exactly. This was a one-time fluke! The little whelp was lucky a demigod was within ear-shot.”

“We’ve come too far to be discovered now over the simple mistake of you getting your jollies off in the camp’s front yard!” The witch’s hair flew up in a dark halo around her head, eyes like golden beacons in the dark, and small debris began to float off the ground.

The power display did little to move Lycaon. He was far too old, and far too savage, to be emotionally swayed by Julia’s potential power. 

“Careful, girl. Your loyalty to the Goddess may ensure our cooperation, but I have no qualms teaching you how to respect your elders.”

Reluctantly, the half-blood calmed her indignant rage, eyes becoming dark brown once more.

Lycaon, too, made an effort to appear more civil, going so far as to retract his claws.

“Now, if you don’t mind sharing, where and when do we strike?”

***

“Κάμω ε ε ε…  
Νάνι μού το νάνι νάνι  
κι όπου μου πονεί να γιάνει.  
Νανι το, που να το χαρώ,  
σαν η ελιά το φύλλο.  
Σαν τα πουλάκια το νερό  
και τα βουνά τον ήλιο.  
Ε ε ε ε… ”

“ _Wha’does tha’ mean_?” Scott slurred against the soft quilt he felt near his face. His eyelids were too heavy to move, but with difficulty, he forced his ears to process the sounds and noises existing around his battered being.

He felt like like the ripped up chew toy the dogs at the animal clinic play with.

“Oh my Gods, Scott!” A familiar scent embraced him and whispered, “He’s awake! Deaton!”

“Deaton?” Scott croaked.

“He’s here, baby.”

Scott made a herculean effort to finally open his eyes, the need to know what was going on a powerful motivator, and the starry sky filled his vision; then his mom’s shining eyes obscured his sight. “Mom?”

Melissa raised herself from the chair situated by the cot he was lying on, and Deaton, the veterinarian, stepped up behind her. 

What was going on? 

As Scott’s vision sharpened, objects coming into clarity, what he saw just formed into an unfamiliar scene. “Where are we?”

The two adults opened their mouths, but each hesitated in their own way of uncertainty. Deaton almost seemed to retain his air of aloofness, but a small wrinkle of worry made his eyes thin. His mom’s mouth twisted down in a very visible sign of concern.

“What do you remember, Scott? From this morning?”

With surprisingly little difficulty, Scott moved to sit up and propped himself using his elbows. Why did I think I’d be in pain? Wait… wasn’t I hurt in the forest-?

“Coach!” Scott flung himself out from under the warm sheets, quilt spilling to the floor and the adults jumped back, startled by his outburst. “Coach-he-he saved me from the-the werewolf!”

Deaton carefully pressed his hands atop Scott’s biceps, attempting to push him gently back down, but Scott tore away, frantic. “Is he okay? Where’s Coach?!”

“Cool your jets, McCall.” An unmistakable voice interrupted from behind the trio. “Though I am flattered to know you care. Truly, it warms a small space in my heart.”

Finstock was lounging atop a too small cot, polishing cloth in hand, and a...

“Sword.”

“Yes, very good McCall. Sword. Shiney. Used to slay the Big Bad Wolf!”

Scott slumped down, hard. Not even on his borrowed cot, but onto grassy floor. So much had just… HAPPENED. The idea of processing it all far too much to handle at the moment. Distantly, Scott felt his mom gingerly carding her fingers through his hair, no doubt attempting to soothe his worries.

Good luck.

He was far too preoccupied staring in wonder at his previously swollen ankle; The skin was bruise-free. And… Scott hesitantly pulled away the collar of his grass-stained jersey. No deep claw-marks in sight. Not even a thin, white scar to show for proof that what happened to him was real.

Except that sword.

“Far be it from me to call your memory into question Bobby, but didn’t you originally tell us you merely struck Lycaon’s shoulder?” Scott peered up through his fringe to see Deaton folding his arms in a cross over his chest. 

The veterinarian was wearing all black, with foreign calligraphy decorating his shirt, and strange red markings were painted along his fingers. Some of the, what Scott assumed to be paint, was dried up and chipping away with all of Deaton’s slight movements. He was leaning forward while addressing the other man in the room, so Scott finally decided to move back to standing and… face whatever weirdness had managed to break apart his perception of normal. 

Melissa glanced between their family friend and Scott, faint amusement managing to bring a spark back to her face, and she mirrored Deaton’s stance. “I’d say that’s exactly what he told us.”

“ _Thank you so much for rescuing my bouncing baby boy, Bobby_ ,” Coach squeaked off in an irritated falsetto, scrubbing harder at a stubborn smear of viscera fighting to stay on his silver weapon. “ _Thank you for dragging his hundred and seventy pound body all the way back to the camp._ ”

Scott perked up at that. “Camp?”

Coach got a wide, pleasant grin stretched along his lips, and flung his arms open wide in a flare, “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, McCall!”

***

By the time Stiles and the girls leave the cabin after catching up, constellations are dotting the sky and they could see lit torches lighting the platform where the rest of the campers were gathered for dinner. The closer they got though, the less campers Stiles noticed were actually seated. It even looked like the whole of Apollo cabin was missing.

“The Athena kids look like they’re holding court,” Lydia assessed quietly, ascending the few steps and making a sharp left, leading her friends to the other Aphrodite campers. “I hope Danny can handle it.”

“Where’re the other counselors? The director?” Kira started to twist the hem of her shirt sleeves; Stiles could sympathize with her building anxiety. “Was there a meeting called that we missed?”  
Even Lydia seemed put off by the thought they might get in trouble for not attending some forgotten get-together.

“They’re busy fending off the Apollo cabin and some of more aggressive Ares kids from snooping around the nursing tents.” Isaac made room on his bench for the three of them to sit next to him, but Stiles remained standing, trying to peer past the pillars and trees to see this so called mob of demigods. 

“What the fuck for?”

“HEEEEEEY EVERYONE! _SHUT YOUR GOURDS!_ ” 

The din of whispering and personal conversations died down almost immediately, as campers were all, yet again, stunned by Erica’s naturally intense energy. She was standing above them all atop a fully-laden table of food; beautiful, but altogether intimidating. As Ares’ most fearsome daughter, she commanded respect.

Stiles is brave enough to admit that she kind of turns him on.

In the privacy of his own mind.

“Thank you, Erica,” Danny lifted a grateful smile, as well as a hand, up to his cousin and helped her down from the wooden platform (in high heels too, damn), then turned to address the rest of the kids. “Now, as I was saying, rushing over to the nursing station isn’t gonna get us answers anymore than interrogating our counselors. The only ones that have any clue as to what is going on, are the people in that tent.”

“Well obviously Apollo house knows something. Why else would they all start singing at the same time?” 

Liam’s demand was met with a new outburst of speculation. Danny looked resigned to giving answers he didn’t have for the foreseeable hour or so, and Hayden punched her boyfriend in the side. 

“Singing?” Lydia turned to Isaac, who was watching the proceedings with an amused smirk. 

“Some of ‘em started to hum that lullaby, Nani Mine, Nani Nani.”

Stiles racked his brain, trying to remember if he’d ever heard it before. Melissa never really used her voice around him because he and Scott had basically been glued to the hip; and even if she did, it was only ever for a karaoke game they did one Christmas. She had been a little tipsy from potent fruit-cake and was belting out Backstreet Boys numbers. 

“ _Nani nani nani, and wherever it hurts will heal_.”

Stiles flailed violently away from the smooth whisper just beside his ear and crashed down to the wooden floor. 

Theo Raeken stood nonchalantly over him, wicked little smirk ruining that innocent mask he plastered on everyday. 

Before Stiles could so much as flip him the bird, let alone open his mouth, Lydia beat him in one breath, “A song for wellness? So someone is hurt?”

“Someone connected to the Apollo children?” Isaac threw out before (somehow, attractively) biting into a slice of pizza, and already managing to seem bored with the entire situation. “Or an actual camper?”

“What if it _is_ Apollo?” Kira speculated nervously.

Stiles waved his hands indignantly at the lack of fuss anyone put up that he actually fell off the bench. The only one that seemed the least bit concerned was Theo, who was offering his own hand in an offer to assist Stiles up.

Ew.

He slapped the offending appendage away, muttering under his breath, “As if!”

“Okay then, _Cher_.” Theo backed off exactly one step, keeping that satisfied tilt pasted to his mug.

“For fucks sake, Stilinski, get off the floor and eat your food on a table, you animal.”

Stiles’ neck cracked audibly upon hearing another familiar voice behind and below the dais. Finstock, son of Dionysus and the camp’s sportsmaster, was fixing him with an angry stare. 

“Coach? You aren’t supposed to be here for another-”

“Another two freakin’ weeks, I know!” He rubbed his hair into a wild nest, black strands standing up taller than they were previously, when a little flicker of guilt lit up his eyes. “Anyway, you’re comin’ with me.”

“C-coming where? What?”

“Twenty more laps in the morning if one more question pops outta yer mouth!”

“Twenty! Coach, twenty laps for what?”

Finstock stalked off, in the direction of the nursing tent, and hollered back, “That’s forty around the short track you and McCall owe me!”

The name was like a police siren in his head, and he shot off toward the guarded field, passing the unkempt teacher fast enough to blow aside his jacket.

Both unaware of Theo fading away, into the shadows.

***

“So, it's a magic camp?”

“Yes.”

Melissa frowned over to the newest guest in the tent, “What part of, ‘easing my son into this,’ was hard to grasp, Mason?”

Mason was a thin boy with appealing dimples and an easy smile, only dimmed down a watt due to Melissa’s judgement. The guilt wrinkling his skin between the eyebrows would disappear soon enough, as if they weren’t even there to begin with. 

The children of Hebe had all the luck.

“Well, I just meant that, what with werewolves, suddenly healed mortal injuries, what else could explain everything better than… magic?”

“So, magic.” Scott shrugged. 

Melissa scrubbed her calloused hands over her sweat pants, wordlessly wishing to the gods above that this was just all a stress-induced dream. She could hear the false nonchalance straining to hold in her son’s voice. He probably wouldn’t have anything as big as an existential crisis, but this reveal into her previously secret parentage was clearly taking a negative toll on their line of trust.

Scott had moved subtly away from her touch when the magnitude of this double-life finally hit home. Melissa doesn’t blame him. A life-time secret not shared between family would put a major crimp in anyone’s relationship. 

This was a pretty big crimp.

“Yeah,” Mason inched down along the cot, further from Melissa; she didn't have any fans in this tent today. “All those legends about the Greek Gods, Zeus, and Hades and stuff actually happened! My mom Hebe, and your grandpa is-”

“Apollo?” 

“Right! Pretty cool, huh?”

Scott scrunched up his forehead, but attempted to smile.“Cool is a word for it.”

Melissa tried to come up with something to say, something to salvage this very pivotal moment in their relationship, but nothing came to mind.

Suddenly, thankfully, outside of the tent walls there was a growing swishing sound. Sneakers sliding over the grass?

“SCOTT?!”

Melissa and the boys turned at the shout from behind the cloth barrier, and she only had one guess as to who it could be.

***

“Stiles?” Scott whispered, relief enveloping his chest like a warm embrace-

Which is exactly what Stiles did after bursting into their tent. Scott immediately returned the hug, but felt confused as to why he needed this after only a day apart.

To be fair, it's been a long day.

“What're you doing here buddy?” Stiles mumbled over his neck. The words tickled his skin, but he didn't pull away. “How are you here?”

“Boys,” his mom sighed almost inaudibly across the cot.

“When you two are done with the doe-eyed reunion scene, we have some things to discuss.” Bobby flicked one of the flaps aside to enter just a few seconds after Stiles, with Deaton following close behind. 

The witch (and wasn’t that weird to refer to his employer as), looking slightly grim, made his way over to Mason’s awkward form. “Uhm, should I leave?”

“No, no Mason. I wouldn't have called you here if your gifts weren't needed.”

“Can I be filled in?” Stiles disengaged from the tight hold he’d formally trapped Scott in, but kept his arms firmly across his shoulders. Scott was okay with that. “I mean, I assume you'll include me, based on the fact coach kidnapped me during dinner?”

Deaton cut to the quick. “Scott was mauled by Lycaon.” 

No foreplay.

“ _What?!_ ” 

Stiles grabbed fistfuls of Scott's shirt in urgency, twirling him this way and that, before tugging up his shirt and flinging it to the floor.

Scott was too shell-shocked to stop him, but he could feel a full-bodied blush almost instantly appear.

“Woah, calm down Stiles!” Melissa reprimanded, but it fell on deaf ears. Stiles hands were like hot stamps over his chest and waist, Scott imagined prints would be left behind if he looked quick enough. Rough fingers smoothed over his abs. A nail scratched under his armpit-

Scott jerked away, trying to lift a shaky grin to his face to ease Stiles nerves (his were fucking shot to the moon with Deaton’s reminder). 

Stiles looked ready to grab at him again, but Mason blocked the aggressive limbs from reaching. “Scott? Is it alright if I touch your heart?”

“His heart?!”

Mason grimaced and stumbled over his words in defense, “Well-I mean-technically his pecs, but I’ll be reading his blood-and all blood travels to the heart, and-”

“I think we get the picture,” Melissa interrupted the ramble, and swatted at Stiles back.

“As a child of Hebe, Mason has been gifted with an array of powers that allow him to understand, sometimes interpret, a person’s well-being. Almost like a psychic reading someone’s aura.” Deaton gave a limited explanation, which only made Scott feel slightly better, but he squared his jaw and nodded to the younger boy to continue.

He shivered at the drastically different texture of soft and cool replacing the lingering sensation of calloused and warm. An illogical voice in the back of his head told him to shove those strange hands away, if only to keep the flesh memory for longer, but Scott scolded it for being irrational. Maybe… he could ask Stiles to look him over again? Just in case Mason missed anything, and then--

“Sorry.” Mason apologized in a practiced response, “Every time I do this to someone, they tell me it’s like a hundred ants crawling through their skin.”

“S-something like--like that.”

Stiles held onto Scott’s arm, which had moved to him without thought. A buzzing numbness rolled under the muscles, urgently filling in every particle of life Scott possessed, almost choking his lungs in their magical enthusiasm to fill his body to the brim. Everything was tingling and tight, almost stinging.

Everything but his heart.

Not even numb, just there. As it always is, usually an afterthought, but in that moment is was like a stone in the ocean. Scott’s main focal point for peace in his own roiling torso… and Stiles.

“Okay.”

The buzzing stopped.

Stiles cradled Scott close to his chest when he nearly collapsed after Mason removed his hand’s. 

Mason slouched down nearby, knees up to his chest and a little awed expression covering his face. “He is.”

“What?” his mom’s voice seemed far away, and Stiles hair was becoming a fuzzy halo in the light of the torch-light.

Nobody would mind if he slept this latest bout of reveals, right? It’s probably all a dream anyway. Too bad Scott wouldn’t wake up in his best friend’s lap.

“He’s a werewolf.”

***

“Scott? Scotty?”

“My son has passed out two times too many today.”

Stiles and Melissa simultaneously shook their heads; neither of them ever wanted Scott to be a part of this violent world. 

This was the wildest scenario they could’ve ever feared for him.

“Don’t worry,” Mason turned to stare up at Melissa, “his body is just basically rebooting after my diagnostics check.”

She folded over herself beside them all on the flattened grass. “You make him sound like a robot.”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s the best way I can describe these things myself.”

“How long will he be out? I didn’t even think he’d wake up after Bobby brought him in this afternoon… I don’t want to just sit here waiting and worrying. Not again.”

Mason blinked for a few seconds, sympathy seeping off of him like a perfume, and crawled the small distance to pat her arm, accompanied with an easeful smile. “If we don’t disturb him, your son should be awake by morning, cuz.”

“Ugh! I’m three decades older than you.” Melissa feigned annoyance, but she wrapped her own hand around his. “The award for weirdest family in the bag.”

“Yeah, yeah--kumbaya and all that love crap--but what’re we gonna do about McCall? He’s gonna get pretty furry around the ALL OF HIS FACE, if and when he isn’t surrounded by our gooey good-vibes camp sooner or later.” 

Stiles stiffened at Coach’s rude interjection, “So anger is a trigger? What else will make him… be wolfy? Full-moon?”

“Scott’s transformations, I think, are the least of our concerns,” Deaton set his supply bag filled with herbs onto the nearest cot and made sure to look them all in the eye. “Lycaon.”

Bobby’s lips turned down, suddenly serious. It was odd for Stiles to see him lose his manic gleam. “The boys and I will gather the other kids; corral ‘em and tell 'em to be on their toes.”

“Yes. No one should leave the perimeter, at least not unless to guide late-returning campers.”

Mason slid his arm from Melissa’s loosened hold, and then without any prompting, he came back over to Stiles to help him move Scott onto an unoccupied bed. What a good fuckin’ boy scout. Stiles wanted to groan. Why couldn’t Danny be attracted to nice boys like this? How he can put up with Jackson for more than five minutes is still mind-blowing.

Just as the boys and Coach were about to leave the tent, Deaton asked, “Could you two go back to the other kids first? Let them know to keep a keener watch and sort out more bodies for a rotating guard duty? I just need to borrow Bobby to help me set up extra wards as a precaution.”

“Uh, yeah, okay.” Coach crossed his eyes, no doubt trying not to appear as confused as Melissa, but Stiles caught it. The son of Dionysus was not good at controlling his micro-expressions. “Stilinski, you’re a counselor-”

“Uh, yeah, by default!”

“So talk to yer fellow counselors! Get ‘em on the same page. Your lot’ll be leadin’ the charge for security.”

“Make sure you inform Tara of what’s happened as well, then please direct her over to us. We’ll be waiting for her here.”

“... Comprende.” Stiles nodded reluctantly after Deaton’s request, but glanced once over to Scott’s prone form. 

Somehow Mason got him out of the tent, and into the cooling night air. In the not-too-distant foreground, Stiles could make out the worry etched on every Apollo kids face, along with the anger of the Ares ‘army.’

Tara looked incredibly composed, their aggressive blustering not fazing the steely deputy one bit. Not even Violet, lead instigator-of-starting-shit, could crack their weapons instructor’s firm demeanor. “How’s everything?”

“Well… “ Mason brushed the tips of his fingers in a circular motion under everyone’s scrutiny, “We’re heading back to the platform to address the rumor going around, as well as what's been happening in the tent.”

“So back it up!” Stiles shouted to the crowd with unwarranted vitriol. He was maybe- just a tad- bitter at more secrets pervading even in this aspect of his life. A small taste of what Scott has probably been sippin’ for years.

A frigid wind almost seemed to carry his command, blowing violently into the faces of those few still standing with contrite glares. The cold shocked the kids into moving back, back toward the warm hearth provided by fire-light. 

Stiles didn't so much as shiver, as stumble in shock at the weird occurance. He wasn't chilly.

***

“If you're going to tell us there are more bite victims holed up in your quarters, I'm leaving for the nearest Petco. I hope shock collars are on sale when bought in bulk.”

“No, Bobby, there aren't any more bite victims.” Deaton rubbed at the non-existent lines between his eyebrows, “But I need to break some news to you and Tara before the sun comes up and a new day of hypervigilance dawns. Then when I’ve told you three this news, we need to break it to our young counselors.”

The eldest mortal son of Hecate felt exhaustion deep in his bones, but knew he must respect that he could not control the fates. The murders of demigods, no matter how unjust or bloody, were of no concern to the entirety of their powerful family. Demigods must deal with demigods.

Deaton has no doubt his mother’s love for him and his sister… but the love of a god is certainly hard to earn in the first place. It isn’t his place to presume the depths of another parent’s affections, or how that depth of feeling will affect their interaction, or interference. 

Deaton knew his mother would understand his silent prayers to Thanatos for the fallen ones. Pleas for peaceful deaths during the tumultuous time no doubt upon them. 

Tara parted the tent walls (still left down to preserve Scott’s privacy) and stood beside Melissa; she was pale from the news that Stiles no doubt revealed, and grew paler at the sight of Scott slumbering on the cot. Deaton remembered her saying in confidence some years back how terrified of Lycaon, and in kind werewolves, she was. He hoped her fear wouldn’t hinder her opinion of Scott.

“So, it’s true? Your son’s been assaulted by that monster?”

Melissa stiffened at Tara’s questions, but nodded in acknowledgment. “Are we going to have a problem?”

Tara frowned at the aggressive tone, but took a moment to evaluate both mother and son. A tense minute passed glacially in the tent, and even Deaton felt justified in the indignance building in defense of Scott, before Tara relaxed her stance. “No. I apologize for my… for my ignorant suspicion.”

“M’kay, we good?” Bobby rolled back and forth on the heels of his tennis-shoes, recklessly dangling his sword to and fro, “Yes, McCall Jr. is now an overgrown flea-bag, we’ve talked this to death all day, now can we please move onto the even bigger cliffhanger the witch-doctor has apparently been hiding from us?”

“There’s worse news to give?”

Deaton breathed in and out through his nose; Finstock somehow managed to even get under his skin, but Tara’s incredulous query sobered all of them up. 

“On the first quarter moon of the new year, Ashley Reynolds was discovered dead in her bedroom by her grandmother.”

His statement was met with dead air. Stillness in their tentful. 

Deaton continued, “On the last quarter of the same month, Kyle Strudders was found by his step-mother in their garage. I was only just informed last week before camp by their families when I made the call because I hadn’t heard from their state’s satyr, Oliver. 

“I left immediately for California to investigate myself, only to find that Oliver hasn’t been seen since Valentines day. His last day in public had been helping Johnny Belasko move into a new apartment.

“I found Belasko’s corpse the next day.”

Melissa sunk heavily at the dire news, brown eyes looking dangerously wet. In a very small voice, she whispered, “It’s happening again, isn’t it?”

Finstock unadroitly drooped towards Apollo’s daughter to pat her shoulder very delicately, as if his touch would sting her. Or him.

“Yes,” Deaton answered. “They were clearly sacrifices.”

“To _Hecate_?”

Deaton wanted to recoil at the venom with which Melissa spoke his mother’s name, but he could offer no other conclusion but, “It would appear so… “

There was no defense he could give. Deaton was as clueless as he was nine years ago. As he was nine years before that. These kills made in Hecate’s name spanned for twenty-seven years, and Deaton was no closer to solving the mystery than Tantalus was to swallowing a goblet of water. 

“Are you suggesting, Deaton, that the sacrifices… could they be linked to Lycaon’s reappearance?” 

“I’m saying that we shouldn't rule out the possibility.”

“You're also saying we should find him first to interrogate him.” Tara concluded with certainty.

Deaton grinned ruthlessly, “More an implication, but yes. Though preferably without alerting the children to our disturbing theory. We still can't prove this assumption.”

“So we can't kill him?!” Finstock moaned petulantly. “It's all ‘yes, yes, yes,’ ladies and ‘no, no, no,’ Bobby!”

Deaton couldn't curse this man. He was better than that.

… It would set a bad example for the children.

“You can kill him.”

Tara and Deaton twisted sharply to stare at Melissa. Her words were measured and sure like well-constructed beams holding up her heavy expression, promising punishment. “I'll hold him down.”

“Melissa--”

“Don't. Not only did this bastard almost kill my son, but you just said you think he had a hand in those kids’ deaths; in Claudia’s.”

***

The rest of the campers took the news that a cannibalistic werewolf king was prowling the perimeter of their land pretty well, all things considered. Some even relished the thought of killing him as a way to prove themselves (three guesses as to who was the most vocal about that idea).

What they really wanted to know was who did Lycaon bite?

“Melissa’s son, Scott.” Mason replied grimly. 

Stiles fought the urge to smack him. 

A hush fell over the crowd. Everyone more or less concerned. Melissa was their teacher and friend; in charge of teaching them basic first aid, and for the interested students, a more intricate medicine for serious injuries. Demigods who live in New York never really leave Camp Half-Blood; they stay to take care of their own in whatever capacity they can.

To hear that her son was attacked was a hard blow for some.

“She brought a _monster_ to our camp?” 

Others, however…

“Fuck off, Garrett! Go back to Houston if you're gonna be asshole.” Stiles spit back.

“Alright!” Danny pushed his half-brother towards the cabins, “Everyone, get yourselves to your bunks. Your head counselors will be by in five to assign guard groups and time. When it's your team's turn, report to Tara at the nursing station and she'll tell you where to go.”

With Danny’s cool command, the crowd dispersed with only some disgruntled muttering. 

Mason patted Stiles on the back in farewell and trotted over to a lingering Hayden and Liam. As he departed from Stiles’ side, the counsellors all at once converged on him. 

Among them was Lydia, Boyd, Erica, Allison, Brett, Danielle, and Danny. The rest… Well, Danny and Lydia knew everyone's name, so Stiles didn’t have to bother. He actually tuned them out while Allison took charge of assigning extra members to the less populated cabins. 

Stiles wished Scott was awake. 

He wished they could stand side-by-side.

Side-by-side at school, not here.

… Holy crap was this going to be the start of a terrible freakin’ summer, if he was already wishing for senior year to start.

“That settles it then! Stiles, go get Theo.”

_Huh?_

Allison sincerely looked like she wanted to throttle him. “Your house has been reduced down to ten kids, including you, since the claiming rights were given to the other gods. Two of them are too young and untrained to handle this high level security risk.

“Also, Jackson and you have been at each other's throats since this morning. We’re not tempting the Fates by putting you two on a team.”

 

“Are you saying I’d jeopardize the safety of my cabin over the chance to have a petty fight with the war-spawn?” Stiles crossed his arms and his hackles rose.

“I’m saying _you and Jackson would jeopardize the safety of our entire family_ over the chance to have a petty fight.” 

All of the air left him at once; Allison may as well have sucker-punched him. Ouch.

Their friends all looked away; suddenly, the trees and stars were incredibly interesting. Allison’s face shuttered in what was almost regret, but then Lydia cleared her throat, and she was Chris Argent’s daughter once more. 

“So that brings us back to Theo. He’ll be working with you and your little sisters tonight, while Jackson works with the twins and your brother. Your cabin is third on rotation. Report to Tara at four am.”

Without another word, Stiles spun on his heel and didn’t look back.

He was almost out of earshot when he heard it. 

“I mean... someone had to say it.”

“Yeah. We just didn’t think it would be you.” Lydia gentled her speech to a whisper, “Gods, though, what crawled up your ass?”

Stiles picked up his pace and started to hum. Warm air blew against his ears, and the contrast between that and the chilly night forced a shiver out of him. Stiles opened his eyes to look forward and saw the cabins glowing supernaturally luminous just ten meters away. All of them had their own unique hue in the night.

Demeter’s flames were a warm green, shining especially bright where it curled around the ivy that clung to the roof shingles. Iris’ had a swirl of colors emanating from the reflective windows. Stiles’ gaze swept past them and all the rest, ‘til it landed on The Big Three.

Zeus was an obnoxious gold, visible enough from a distance to fool others into believing it was an actual mist enveloping the grand and well-designed symbol for compensation. (Thank Batman that the gods didn’t care enough about him to be constantly monitoring his thoughts.) Kira was probably gearing up inside, waiting to be informed whose team she was gonna be on.

Why couldn’t they team up?

In an extremely childish demonstration (one that wouldn’t help his case if Allison chose that moment to watch his retreat), Stiles kicked at a forest nymphs’ collected pile of acorns, pine cones, and fungus, and felt a quick zing of satisfaction, but guilt replaced it almost immediately. The disarray of meticulously gathered nature could’ve represented his scattered thoughts, so he fell to his knees with the illogical urge to put everything back to where is was-- possibly with more care than the items were originally handled with. 

“What are you doing?” A small voice spoke in front of his bent head.

Stiles flailed back onto his tail-bone and his wild hands threw out the handfuls of pine-needles to catch himself on his elbows. The haphazard pile he’d put back was nothing but dust in the wind. 

Literally.

A forest nymph the size of his forearm was standing still as a statue before him, with unreadable black irises. The dust of what was once her pile of seedlings and organisms danced freely around her knotted hair like a halo, then dispersed with an almost apathetic wave of her tiny fingers.

“I'm sorry,” Stiles rubbed his palms over the dewy grass. “It was, uhm… pretty.”

“Not anymore.”

“What?” 

The petite creature bent at her waist and rested her sharp little elbows on his knees. “A human’s concept of beauty is too narrow of a margin to judge Gaea’s bounty. 

“It was mean-spirited of you to to influence the growth of the horde, and your act of passion influenced a repugnant spirit.”

“ … Yeah.”

The nymph squinted her alien eyes, probably stifling her urge to name him a multitude of curse-words that were beneath her extensive vernacular, but then in show of maturity Stiles was obviously lacking in tonight, she held out her doll-sized hand and hauled him to his feet. “Pieces alone aren’t ‘pretty.’

“They’re sad.”

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip and hunched down. As he watched her glide away into the forest, he decided to just firmly place himself into the category of confused so as not to dive any deeper into that depressing pit of introspection the daughter of the forest no doubt tried to force him down. 

“I’ll make you a new pile!” he yelled after the nymph before her diminutive form blended into the tree-line.

She pirouetted around (and it was amazing he could still see her small body from this distance), and called back. “Your gift may be accepted with formal introduction at the ash tree encircled by cedar.”

A tree branch waved down in front of the nymph and waved back; she was gone.

 _So she was a hamadryad_. Stiles pulled up his sagging pants and swiped at the mud sticking to his backside. _Great. Just great._

“Yo, hellboy,” Stiles hollered as he neared the very ‘ _goth isn’t a phase, mom!_ ’ cabin and knocked his fist against an obsidian pillar. “You in? I’m saddled with your ass for look-out at the ass-crack of dawn.”

No response. 

Stiles tapped his fingers against the stone wall for a few seconds, green torchlight casting shadows over his body and the deck, before just thinking _to hell with it_ and opening the heavy door.

“Holy friggin’ Addams Family.” Stiles blew air heavily through his nose and almost ran back out of the cabin after only two steps inside. “It’s like a wanna-be Dracula took up decorating.”

Everything was red and black, and that was it. Red walls, pillows, desks, and swivel chair. Black curtains, bed covers, cabinets, and floor. And was that… _skull and bones bed frame?!_

 _Nope_.

“Nope, nope, nope.” Stiles spun back around and jogged all the way back to Hermes’ Cabin where he immediately hurled himself onto his bed and pulled the covers up, fully encasing his body and head. “Today needs to be over. Today is the weirdest.”

“For fuck’s sake, Stilinski,” Jackson mumbled from his own bunk, unmoving from his sprawl.

A delighted gasp sounded from the other side of the room, and Stiles blinked in realization. He writhed free from his sheets and glared across Jackson, “Language!”

“Jackson said Fuck, so we get ta say it too!” A little boy with shoulder-length, strawberry-blonde hair jumped up and down on his mattress excitedly, “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!”

“Uuugh, Caleb! I'm too tired to big brother.” 

Jackson rolled his whole head around and slipped off of his bed with momentum and took the five steps to Stiles’ bedside, the chanting of ‘fuck’ dying down when his youngest brother realized no one was paying attention. 

Stiles flicked his gaze to meet the unclaimed demigod’s, then flopped back down onto his soft pillows. “You and the wonder twins are gonna be a team, along with Javier. We’re all supposed to report to Tara at 4.”

“You taking your sisters?”

“Yeah, along with Damien.”

“Who?” Jackson’s scowl of confusion almost made him ugly.

“You seriously need to leave camp this year. Or become a couch potato,” Stiles shrugged an arm over his forehead. “Educate yourself in the wonderful world of anything other than this one.”

Before Jackson could so much as open his mouth, the cabin door swung open and in walked Aiden and Ethan. Each were carrying a small bundle over their shoulders, and once they passed through the doorway Caitlin and Stiles’ sisters followed after.

There was something very distinctly different about them.

“Did you guys shave your heads?”

Caitlin giggled into her fist, “I'd say you solved the mystery!”

“We were tired of people always mixing us up! I’m a whole year older too; we’re not that similar!” Chrissy stomped her foot in indignation. “So we asked Caitlin to chop it.”

“Cool!” Caleb bounced towards the older girls with a sugary sweet smile, “I want a mohawk!”

Stiles didn't know why everyone else couldn't hate the day with him; so it was with a reluctant groan, he sat up straighter to address everyone in the cabin. “One. You both need to call your mom in the morning and tell her what you did. Two. Caleb, we’ll call your aunt and uncle after May and Chrissy have finished their talk so we can ask them if getting a mohawk is cool with ‘em. Three. Where’s Javier and Yasmin?”

“Your brother is walking Yasmin back here from the stables. She had wanted to see the ‘ponies’ after dinner so they weren’t around for that Apollo House performance.” Ethan answered as he unpacked his brown satchel. Inside were snacks, water bottles, and two switch blades. He handed one of them to his brother.

“We stopped by there to let ‘em know what was going on. Yasmin just needed to secure the horses and lock the barn before heading back.” Aiden finished the explanation, then, noticing Stiles curiosity, “These blades were presents from our grandpa. Plus, can’t be too careful with a werewolf out there.”

“Are we gonna wrestle werewolves, Stiles?” Caleb shrieked with excitement. 

“Well, Aiden just might,” Stiles said, and the other demigod squinted at him, affronted by the insinuation. “But you, little man, have a very important job in the morning.”

“I do?”

Stiles stood up and placed a hand on the little boy’s mop of hair, “You and Yasmin have the brave task of guarding our cabin tomorrow morning.”

“Should-should I turn my alarm clock on?” Caleb widened his eyes at the prospect of be given a responsibility. “What time do I gotta be ready?”

“Oh, you don’t gotta worry about that! I’ll make sure to wake you and Yasmin up bright and early. You’ll even have enough time to have breakfast and clean up.”

All of the younger kids would be sitting this potentially life-threatening watch out, as unanimously agreed by the councilors, and they all knew Deaton and the other adults would approve of this precaution. 

Stiles wished he could do the same for all of his siblings (hell, lock them and Scott all up in a safe room), but he was forced to dismally acknowledge that Chrissy, May, and Javier were old enough and trained to the best of Tara and Coach’s abilities. This would be their first ‘quest’ with actual danger applied to it. 

They’d probably castrate him if Stiles so much as insinuated they didn’t need to be on rotation with the older kids.

“Stiles?” Caleb’s whisper brought his focus back to the present.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Is the werewolf in the tent your friend, Scott? The one you always talk about?”

Oh. “ …Yeah.”

 _Please don’t be scared of him. Please don’t be scared of him_.

“But, he’s good right? Not a bad one?”

“Too early to tell,” Jackson threw out nonchalantly. 

“ _Jackson! I swear to_ \--!” Stiles breathed sharply through his nose, then visibly loosened his shoulders for the younger boy’s benefit. “No, Caleb. Scott is a good werewolf. Pinky promise.”

Stiles held up his little finger, praying to Maia this gesture would still work as a gesture of good faith to the five year-old. Seconds ticked by with Caleb staring unblinking at the calloused skin of his finger with an unreadable expression on his face, before wrapping his own teeny pinky around it strongly. 

Stiles hoped his little sisters and brothers would like Scott. _How could they not like Scott?_

Stiles hoped Scott would like them. _Well, of course he would, but_ \--!

Would Scott hate him for keeping his family a secret?

The whole ‘ _my bio dad happens to be the not-so-mythical greek messenger god, Hermes, but what sane person would’ve believed that?_ ’ thing is of course understandable for keeping a secret… but a family? Stiles doesn’t have a strong enough excuse for that one.

“Hey, I brought waters for everybody,” Ethan gave his hundred-watt smirk. “Drink some before you go to bed, it’ll be better for us in the long run.”

“Thanks man,” Jackson accepted a bottle tossed his way and unsealed the the lid to glug down.

Stiles did the same and sent Good Twin a thumb’s up. “Thanks. I’ll buy you a drink when we go into town next week for museum trip.”

Aiden sniggered unattractively from his bed and Ethan threw his pillow at Bad Twin’s face. 

_And the pillow wars continue_ , Stiles smiled around the lips of the of bottle as water gurgled into his mouth. 

***

Scott was bored.

Bored and lonely.

His mom and Coach had left the tent a bit after his black-out, both going to their old cabins to help out the kids that now live there, according to Tara, and Deaton had left after them to do some hoodoo around the camp.

Around the magic camp.

_Holy fuck._

“Tara?”

“Yes, Honey?” The deputy looked up from pouring water over her gold-hilted sword, and the blade gleamed from the firelight.

Was it odd to feel more nervous about her holding that weapon then whenever she came around the Stilinski house with her sidearm? 

“Can I ask...?”

“Uh-huh?” She prompted Scott to carry on, turning her attention back to sharpening and picking up a thick piece of sandpaper. The grind of the grain against metal was strangely soothing.

“How do you deal with living separate lives?”

Tara stopped the back-and-forth sharpening and took a deep breath, then placed the sword carefully onto the bed beside her. Her swivel revealed a bedside drawer on the opposite side of the cot he hadn’t noticed before, and weirdly, atop it sat an alarm clock. It was only 8:50 at night, and Tara looked tired.

Scott was tired.

“It’s not easy. Especially when my grandparents rag on my mom for not lockin’ down the ‘ _fella who knocked her up_ ,’ every Thanksgiving.”

Scott blinked, “Uh, I’m sorry.”

Tara waved the apology off and continued, “And I know it’s been tearin’ your mom and Stiles up over keeping this from you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tara went to pick up her sword again, but something flicked through her eyes and she stared right at him. “Scott… I need to apologize. Apologize for the life you’re going to have when you leave this tent.”

Scott lifted his torso rigidly from the soft pillows, a new sense of fear bubbling in his stomach. “What?”

“It’s on me and Deaton for not making absolutely certain this forest was safe and secure. It’s… it’s my fault you were--”

“Don’t say that.”

Tara looked on the verge of tears, with lips and hands trembling, “It’s--it’s my fault you’re a mon--were bitten.”

Scott sucked in air through the slit of his mouth. _A monster_.

Tara flinched visibly at her own slip of the tongue, old prejudice running deep and long like a scar over her heart. It was written all over her face, and…

Scott could smell her regret.

Or, at least, he thought it was regret. New sounds and smells would come slowly to him and facial cues certainly helped.

Tara shook her head a little, probably trying to regain some form of composure and straightened her back. “I’m also sorry for how some of the campers may treat you.”

 _Great. Asthmatic loser in human school, werewolf freak in a camp full of half-aliens_. (They sort of were, if you thought about it.)

“Why is that?” Scott honestly didn’t understand that mindset. “How are you guys so cool with accepting that your parents’ are mythical gods, but werewolves are the scary thing?”

The deputy grabbed at the previously discarded sandpaper to tap her nails against the rough surface, no doubt trying to figure out how to respond. How to formulate the words. It took her near a minute of thumbing the tool and biting the inside of her cheek, while Scott slowly eased himself into a comfortable sitting position, concern replacing his fear in a slow submergence. On one hand, he didn’t want Tara to blame herself for something out of her control, but on the other, he couldn’t help but still feel a little hurt over being labeled something abhorrent by a family friend.

“I have my own reasons for being afraid of… Lycaon,” Tara looked up to meet his eyes, “But the other campers--we all--grew up hearing the story of this terrible mortal king who cannibalized his youngest son just to play a horrible joke on Zeus. Lycaon invited the gods down to a feast in their honor, unaware he’d been serving them pieces of Prince Nyctimus.”

Bile rose in Scott’s throat, but he quickly swallowed it down.

“When Zeus discovered what Lycaon had done, he cursed the king and all his son’s who participated in the trick. Cursed them to be as beastly as their souls.”

“How… “ Scott started to speak, but took a moment to take in a lungful of air and swallowed down lingering acid, “How has he been alive for so long?”

Tara cleared her own throat with a cough and traded the sandpaper for thick cloth to rub down the edge of her sword. “For some reason, our parents seem to think cursing mortals with immortality coupled with whatever strange spell originally cast is the ultimate punishment. 

“And it’s true in most cases, but for creatures like Lycaon? It only served to make his stronger and more sadistic.”

“So, why doesn’t Zeus just--I don’t know--smite him?”

Tara tensed up at Scott mentioning Zeus’s name, casting her gaze towards the roof of the ceiling. Should he not invoke anyone’s name? Oh yeah. That was a rule his mom told him earlier. _Oops_.

The deputy dropped her guard quickly, almost as if the reaction was an ingrained reflex (definitely oops) and huffed out, “I don’t know, and I am definitely never gonna get a chance to ask him.”

Huh?

“Tara?” a familiar voice inquired outside of the tent. A voice Scott hadn’t heard in nearly a year.

Allison pulled open the draped tent flap and stepped through into the bright warm firelight, along with two teenagers he didn’t know, but all three shared the hair colour and cheekbones. All of them appearing very straight-backed and sharp, exuding a confidence Scott could never dream of emulating. 

That demeanor, however, wavered when she spotted him. “Scott.”

“Hi,” he nodded weakly in greeting, burdened with nerves now that he held the knowledge that she was basically half-goddess (no wonder Stiles always laughed at him whenever he said as much). 

“How are you… doing?” Her voice soft, filled with nothing but genuine worry.

“In control?” One of the demigods behind her right shoulder asked with challenge.

Tara stood and focused a hard glare towards the person, “Enrique. Scott is not a threat to you, or our camp.”

“Says who?”

“Says Melissa.” Tara pushed the newly sharpened sword into the scabbard belted to her hip and lifted her chin, “And me.”

Enrique lowered their hackles; Scott felt immensely better after her admission. Tara was trying.

“Scott,” Allison called the attention back to her, “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.”

“This lump-head behind me is Enrique, and this is Miki,” she gestured to the stranger with two long braids. “They’re my siblings.”

Scott blanched at her casual referral of relation to these people. Luckily, he saved a little face by not blurting out something mortifying (he’d done that to his mom and boy did her face turn red) and schooled his facial features into what he hoped was a cheerful grin. “Cool. So, uhm, can I ask, or--?”

“Our birth mother is Nike, goddess of victory.” 

“Oh,” Scott smiled shyly, “Makes sense.”

Allison lifted her own lips up in a smile. 

“Hate to break up the moment, but shouldn’t we get onto the werewolf-hunting portion of the night?” Miki scrubbed a palm over their bangs, then twitched towards Scott, “Not you, of course.”

Scott attempted to laugh along with the others, but it most likely came out as more of a groan. Allison and the other two got closer to Tara and his cots, and his ex-girlfriend bent down to whisper in his ear, “Don’t mind Miki. She’s just cranky her first night back at camp is not going to be spent with her boytoy.”

“What was that?” Tara raised a brow in their direction.

“Nothing!” Miki pulled off a saccharine smile, simultaneously flipping them off behind her back. “So, our cabin and the oldest Hephaestus kids will be patrolling first.”

Allison perked up. “The other councilors and I decided it would be best to keep the younger, untrained kids safe in their bunks. Less chance of losing someone in the woods and safer for everyone to know we can all take care of ourselves and each other if things go south.”

“Good call,” Tara complimented.

“We’re meeting up with Boyd, Jared, and Heather at the strawberry fields,” Enrique threw in with some more names Scott had never heard before.

“Who’re the next teams?”

“After us are cabins Nemesis, Hypnos, and Aphrodite. We’ll wake them when our shift has ended, after checking back in with you. Lydia will check in at around 11.”

“When your guys’ shifts ends, I need you all to come directly here to the nursing tent first thing. I need to see everyone with my own two eyes, then you can go wake up the next party.”

Enrique and Miki both sighed in over-dramatization, but Allison replied with a respectful, “Yes, Ma'am.”

“After Lydia’s patrol are cabins Athena and Ares, so Danny and Erica will check in. Next is Hermes and Hades, so Lydia should have fun waking Stiles up.” Miki smirked like the Cheshire Cat.

“Stiles?”

Allison froze up on his cot at the mention of his best friend, but Scott almost didn’t notice. “Stiles is coming back to the tent? Can I go with him?”

The carefully constructed calm was broken, and the extra occupants in the tent faced him with varying degrees of wariness. Enrique even seemed ready to lunge forward, weapon-first, judging by the way they held their sword.

Scott wouldn’t regret asking. He needed some form of levity back. A familiar presence to calm him down and be here with him during this reality-warp. Tara and Allison were of course a welcome a sight, but they weren’t… They weren’t the person he needed right now. 

Tara’s brow went down, conveying sympathy, “Honey, you can’t leave the tent. Not until we’re certain Lycaon isn’t prowling around nearby.”

“Not until we’re sure he has no control over you.” Allison pulled away from his side to take her place between Miki and Enrique. “It’s to keep you and everyone at camp safe.”

Scott nibbled at his lip and looked away from them. He couldn’t dispute what they were saying, but he didn’t have to be happy about it. Finally in on the big family secret and he still had to sit at the kid’s table.

The children of Nike all stepped back and away toward the entrance to the tent, confidence and surety over-taking their attitude as they focused back onto what the night was really about, but before Allison joined them outside, she paused at the opening and turned back around. “Scott?”

He glanced upward.

“You won’t be in this tent forever. You’ll be back with Stiles once this night is through.” Her promise resonated with determination. “I swear.”

He believed her.

***

“Looks like sleeping beauty's finally waking up..”

 _Wha_?

Stiles felt like a popped balloon: deflated and damp. His eyelids were heavy, like finger tips were being pressed down onto them.

“Why the fuck are you poking him in the eyes?” Someone sounded exasperated, and Stiles was jostled around by his armpits and knees. “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

 _Aiden_?

“ _Issomeone carryin’me_?” Stiles tried to enunciate his words, but everything came out slow and garbled. “ _I’mnah a prisness_.”

_Why were words so hard?_

“You most assuredly aren't.” A deep, unrecognizable baritone answered. “Are you sure this one will make an adequate sacrifice? A light breeze might knock him over.”

_Sacrifice?_

“Well, that’s a pretty applicable insult, seeing as his father is the messenger god.”

_Theo._

Stiles was so muddled in the head; he felt constricted and moving his limbs was a herculean effort, but he knew he needed to. Something wasn’t right.

“Plus, his mother was also a demigod. That kind of lineage is a double-whammy; exactly what we’re looking for.”

A low growl responded back. It didn’t sound threatening… more like approval.

Well, it was threatening to Stiles.

“Are you certain you weren’t followed?” The stranger’s voice was a permanent gnarl, grumbling around something in his mouth. “I don’t want to turn my back only for that Dionysus seedling to spear into it.”

“Don’t worry, King,” Stiles heard Ethan’s voice come from somewhere at the rear of this strange group. “We made sure to dose our cabin up with just enough rohypnol that they’ll be out for another hour of so. We didn’t want the dosage to be so powerful that they couldn’t fall asleep naturally, and we have enough time to get this done and head back to our beds before the Aphrodite kids come for us.”

“I gotta say,” Aiden adjusted his grip under Stiles’ legs to hold him tighter. “This might be the funniest outfit anyone’s ever been sacrificed in.”

Stiles felt his dream-like turbulence even out into a numb panic at those words, and a hysterical giggle croaked out of his throat. There was nothing funny about this, no matter that these kids were talking about offing him in his disney-themed boxers.

Shit.

 _Fucking, goddamn, shit._

Stiles grew up with these bastards. _He fucking grew up with them, what the fuck_?!

Yeah, you could say they never really got along, but--but how could someone you knew for ten years just decide to-- decide to kill you?

Stiles was petrified beyond belief. His heart started to race, and he felt a cold sweat break out on his skin. 

He was going to be sacrificed. By fucking tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum and satan’s spawn? “ _I take ba’tha gootwin moniker_.” 

What the crap was he saying? Stiles wanted to spit vitriolic threats and tear into these assholes with his bare hands. 

He was going to be sacrificed. Fuck, this fact was running a constant loop in his dazed brain. Why couldn’t he move? Couldn’t leap into the air and fly away?

Wait.

“ _Fat-her_ ,” Stiles moaned with a cotton tongue. “ _Fatherrr_.”

Silence met his plea, and Aiden stilled. The gentle rustle of the others feet over the rough dirt paused as well. 

A distant mourning dove cooed in the tree branches above.

A mean chortle barked out from the man with no name as-of-yet, and the rest carried on with the trek through woods. “Pathetic child. I say we’re doing a service to gods with this one. Culling the weak from the herd.”

A strong wind rushed through the trees, making Stiles shiver when it hit his bare flesh.

“They don't care, Stiles.” Theo was suddenly right there in his face, breathing against his hair. He couldn't see him, but Theo’s presence was unmistakable. “The gods never care.”

“Dude,” Aiden backed up immediately, causing Stiles’ head to lull forward. “Personal space? You can get your creep on with Stilinski in the Underworld.”

The stranger was still amusing himself in front of them, laughing lowly, “He’d have more luck crying for his mother!”

Mom.

Stiles wanted to cry, wanted to scream, but what came out instead was a familiar invocation. A prayer only ever uttered when he knew for sure the request would be heeded.

There would be no inevitability without his wings. All Stiles had was desperation.

“ _Maia_ ,” he beseeched to the sky.

The mourning dove echoed its' call.

***

A vigorous wind tore into the nursing station! 

It was so powerful, Tara and Scott flew out of their chairs and onto the ground, along with all of the bed-sheets, stools, and various beside knick-knacks.

Miraculously, the torches stayed lit throughout the violent stream of air. 

Practically everything not nailed down was laid out on the grass, and even some of the heavier drawers were fallen to their sides. Attempting to affect an air of calm, Tara rose from her slumped position and looked around for Scott in the mess, hoping he hadn’t hurt himself.

She was not expecting to see John’s son curled up and unconscious in the middle of the tent. “ _Stiles_?”

“Stiles did that?” Scott popped up from below his own cot, hair fluffed up to a ridiculous degree and the brightest grin she’d seen him wear all night.

It disappeared as soon as his eyes fell to his friend’s prone body on the floor.

Without hesitating, Scott leapt over the furniture to shroud Stiles. “Stiles! Stiles, are you okay? Are you awake?”

Tara quickly joined the boys in the center, running through her head all of the possible reasons this could’ve happened. New powers, a curse, a blessing...?

“Hey,” Stiles voice was small and shaky; he didn’t open his eyes. “I think I found Lycaon.”

“What?” Tara gasped. “How?”

“Did he bite you too?” Scott leaned in closer, inspecting every inch he could of Stiles’ upper body without moving away.

Stiles snorted deliriously and rambled “Impromptu kidnapping adventure in the woods.”

“What the hell?” Scott shook and pushed his forehead to touch Stiles hair. Both of their brows were sweaty. Tara had an overwhelming urge to just wrap these kids into her arms.

“No more adventures without me, buddy,” Scott whispered emotionally. “No more secrets.”

Stiles face contorted into something like grief, and a tear fell from a closed eye. “Pinky promise dude.”

He lifted his arm, with obvious difficulty, and held out a pinky.

Scott let out a suspiciously wet laugh, and took hold of that finger with his whole fist. “Pinky promise accepted.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed the fic! Please be gentle.
> 
> P.S. on a happier note, here are [Stiles' undies.](http://img.shop4world.com/clothing/accessories/men/disney_snow_white_grumpy_boxer_shorts_medium_raw.jpg)


End file.
